


Making Music

by fairytalehearts



Series: Songfics...Sort of [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Musicans AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4348826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalehearts/pseuds/fairytalehearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musicians AU Based on the song, "Loud Music" by Michelle Branch. Felicity is a popstar and her new guitarist changes everything.<br/>If you would like to listen to the song on <a href="https://play.spotify.com/track/7nrUrHtfvYjnOTMLvGyr3Y">Spotify</a> or <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJ06KE_xWxg">YouTube</a></p><p>
  <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4348826/chapters/10202265">**NOW WITH EXTENDED REMIX***</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the original story. If you want to skip it, feel free to just go to chapter two and read the extended remix. 
> 
>  
> 
> Which is basically the same story but longer...

Stepping onto the stage, Felicity kicked off the ridiculous high heels they insisted she wear, wiped off the lipstick that was drying her lips out and brought her Nalgene bottle that her manager said was trashy. She was done. Over. She was going to do things her way and if that wasn’t enough for them they could fire her. She had music and that was all that mattered.

Oliver stood next to her in the shadows, his guitar strapped to his back, “You sure about this?”

“Yes. I am.”

He tucked her mic pack into her pants and slapped her butt once for good measure. She glared at him but her nerves were effectively gone. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she smiled. She was ready.

“Let’s go bring the house down.”

Felicity walked out on stage, the venue only had a couple hundred people but they were going to get the show of a lifetime.

“My name is Felicity Smoak, some of you know me by my stage name- but I’m not using that anymore. In fact, I fired my manager, my publicist and my label. But Oliver Queen and I are going to play you a live set until the cops come get us and pry us off the stage.”

 

**

“Hair and Makeup took longer than my sound check.”

Oliver hadn’t been particularly excited about this particular audition but he was currently band-less and this new pop sensation needed a new lead guitarist. His manager worked his magic and it was down to the two of him- Cisco was a good guy but he wasn’t exactly Oliver Queen. He played anything and everything and if her shitty band manager was still grumbling on the road then he’d be gone and Oliver would step into the role easily.

He’d worked with most of the crew and why the little teen princess insisted on auditioning the band-

Felicity turned around, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her. She was wearing a Jimi Hendrix t-shirt with the arms missing her black sports bra covering anything that would be considered indecent. And blood red sweatpants.

 “Do you even know who Jimi Hendrix is?” Oliver shouldered his guitar and waited patiently for the bullshit about to come out of the girl’s mouth-

Instead she unstrapped his strat, tuned the damn thing and started playing “Bold as Love”.

“If I let assholes like you dictate my music I never would have gotten anywhere in this business. My last lead guitarist sucked live and pre-recorded all of the songs on my last tour. I don’t lip sync and I expect the people backing me up to do the same. Now you’re going to start over and compliment me on my t-shirt from his last tour and you’re going to impress me up on that stage.”

Oliver didn’t think he’d ever gone from pissed off to turned on so quickly, “Cool t-shirt, Babe.”

He took a running leap towards the stage and slid on his knees towards the amp.

He played “Hit Me Baby One More Time” that faded into “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” with his eyes closed. She took a running leap for the stage and instead of going for the mic she went for the drum set and caught up very well. Almost too well.

When she started singing the chorus and doing a drum solo he lost his shit. Sour note on his axe and all.

“You punking out on me, Queen?” She spoke into the microphone and he turned around to see the entire crew watching them from the pit.

He started over at the bridge and sang along with her, hoping someone was recording in the crowd that had formed. It was easy to forget about things like dwindling careers and teen pop stars when it was just the two of them and the music.

He definitely did not expect the tangle of limbs after their third song together, the tiny blonde slamming him against the door to her dressing room while she climbed him like a monkey.

Adrenaline and maybe partial deafness and maybe the tequila shot he always took before an audition were to blame for his serious lack of judgement but he slid her sweatpants down and took her against the door.

“Leave the shirt on.” He grunted before digging through his wallet for a condom. Smiling in success, he was halfway to an amazing orgasm when he remembered that he swore off musicians. Too much drama too much-

“You’re thinking too loudly. Shut up and fuck me.”

“You’re _bossy_.” Oliver hissed when she brought her ankles together around his waist.

“You like it.”

He did.

**

Two Months Later

While Felicity was a downright drill sergeant with every aspect of her tour, when it came to her jackass booking agent she was a little marshmallow. The days Malcolm Merlyn came to rehearsal were the worst and if the tears streaming down her face afterwards were any indication, the hatred was mutual. Then her publicist and her manager-

He didn’t understand why she kept those tool bags around. Felicity could sing, play guitar and the drums and pretty much any instrument she picked up and she could work the 808- it took a lot to impress him but he was- smitten. Not that it was obvious.

“It’s the American Music Awards. Not the Grammys.” Oliver didn’t understand why he was going. He didn’t want to go. And he was perfectly fine with wearing his standard button down and slacks. But one of the three stooges had insisted he dress up for this shindig and it was definitely not in his contract-

Until he got one look at Felicity and vowed to kill anyone who came within a ten foot radius.

The dress was short, the pink number hugged in all the right places and left some things to the imagination in others-

“You tie is crooked.” She chided, straightening his bowtie.

“Your dress is about to be crooked on the floor.” Oliver responded, pulling her body flush against his own. The dressing room was empty save for the two of them and he may have sworn the last time was the last time but he was quickly changing his mind.

“Don’t you dare!” Felicity giggled pressing a kiss to his jawline anyway, “Did you write anything today?”

He did but he wasn’t particularly in a sharing mood when his libido was raging. Putting on the jacket, he held an arm for her and walked her to the limo, where her standard gaggle of thirty superfans were waiting outside of their rehearsal space.

They left an hour early for everything so the tweens could update their blogs on everything Ash Monroe. Which was the worst stage name when her actual name was Felicity. She wanted to protect her mother in Vegas but Ash Monroe was a ghost. Not a real person.

She even talked some of the roadies into setting up folding chairs for them- this girl was unreal.

_“So are you Ash’s boyfriend?”_

They generally never spoke to him or any of the crew exiting the building. He talks to the girl who is definitely too young to be outside a cold building for hours about the definition of “boyfriend”. They decide it’s someone who he thought was “super” pretty and he liked spending time with. Who he wanted to have his first kiss with. He doesn’t want to ruin the girl’s life so he goes with her definition.

“Yeah. Go scoop MTV with that one.”

By the time they get downtown, the internet has erupted with dating rumors and for the first time Felicity is flustered. He liked seeing the blush that crept along her cheeks. Pulling her to his side, he kissed her cheek not particularly enjoying the taste of makeup.

“Yes. We’re dating. And Ash will be performing a new song tonight, “Making Music” that we co-wrote.” Oliver really loved getting one over on her majesty. It wasn’t like her publicist could be bothered to come to an award show. He’d find out later and Oliver was prepared to help her fight that battle when it came.

She was only performing for the preshow and even though they hadn’t gotten the bridge just right or even practiced the song she gets up there and sings her ass off, while he resists the urge to run up on stage. She stage dives into his arms and he runs for the entrance to the damn award show where she loses to some child who didn’t even write their own music and-

“It’s fine.”

He had carried her around the event one leg bent near his hip, the other dragging on the floor. If anyone were to glance over they would have assumed they were dancing but no. He preferred that her breasts weren’t a conversation piece on twitter all night.

Some bigwig record executive corners her on the way to the bathroom and by the time he’s close enough to eavesdrop, all he could hear was some bullshit about calling in the morning.

“The plan is working!” Felicity is bubbly, giggly self and plants a kiss on his nose in front of god and everyone and smiles.

In the limo, her driver, John Diggle, asks how the evening went, and she replied that it went fine.

The plan, is apparently to leave her record label that could care less about her voice or 3.9 million twitter followers, ten million views on youtube or anything really.

“It’s pathetic that my agent didn’t even want to come to a show where I am performing. They did say I could lose a few pounds- speaking of, John, let’s get burgers, I’m starving.”

They eat in the car and when the limo stops at her place he’s suddenly 14 again, nervous around women, “I’ve got a new guitar if you wanna see it.”

“Does that line work?” Felicity takes a sip of her milkshake, her eyes wide and staring.

“Come on, babe.”

There is a lone paparazzo outside of his house, half-asleep. Oliver kicked the sole of his shoe and asked if he wanted some pictures.

Felicity grabbed his lapels and jumped up to kiss him, the poor kid snapping his camera like crazy, “Don’t sell that picture for less than 10,000 dollars. And if you’ll smart you’ll come back in the morning.”

Oliver slammed the door behind the two of them and carried Felicity towards his bedroom.

Unzipping her dress she turned around to glare at him, “Where’s the guitar?”

He’s half-naked, and definitely hard but he pads into the living room to show her the guitar. She, in her underwear, takes it out to the living room and starts riffing something or another and before long he’s cock-blocked by his own guitar collection because his muse is signing. Before long when he's really dustracted, she’s got headphones out of her purse and rocking out.

Red pen behind her ear, she pulls a t-shirt on to answer the door, and the dumb photographer kid is back with his girlfriend who’s a reporter. “Come in!”

Well if they were gonna have guests, Oliver unplugged her headphones and pulled his amp in with the kick pedal. They rock out like old friends, the reporter chick playing the triangle and Oliver doing his best to keep up with the lyrics she had been making on the fly.

It’s 4AM and he’s exhausted in love and he can’t be the one to tell Felicity to come to bed. Padding to his bedroom, when she joins him an hour later, her new single _Exhausted in Love_ is ready to be recorded.

“Music is everything to me.”

He's not sure why she's telling him this, but that was a burden he shared with her.

Rolling onto his back he stares at the dots in his ceiling. She might be using him to break from her record company but he can’t bring himself to care, “So am I the melody or the guitar solo?”

“You’re the Grammy I’m going to win and the song stuck in my head when I close my eyes.”

in the morning, he follows her to the studio for hours and he’s exhausted and needs coffee but new of their relationship has hit the twittersphere and her agent calls and she hangs up before telling him to go again with the chorus.

She apparently can produce her own songs. And was dumb enough to want him to sing backup.

She sits at the controls, and even though he can’t hear her through the glass, she sings along, putting her baseball cap backwards and turning the knobs. Twisting his guitar around his body, he starts playing un-prompted, the chords drowning out his vocals. Felicity stops jamming and looks up at him and he sings louder.

She motions for him to cut and hits the button on the console, “I didn’t know you played acoustic.”

Walking away from the mic, he picks up the clarinet and the box drum. He had spent his summers indoors, like a good rich kid, and the only forms of entertainment his stepmonster allowed was music.  He could probably play any instrument put in front of him.

Picking up at the bridge, he kicked the box to the beat while he played a clarinet solo.

“You’re shitting me.”

Mumbling around the reed Oliver chucked, “Are you recording this or what? We’ve only got the studio booked until 4PM.”

She motions for him to go ahead and when he looks up after the second take she’d removed her kitten sweater and her blouse-

“What the fu-”

Dressed in her underwear he wondered if one of his top fantasies was going to come true but alas, she only spilled her coffee. “I don’t have time to go home and change. Out of the booth, I need to redo the first verse.”

Exhausted in Love was completely different than any of her other songs and it was- amazing. They fall asleep on the couch near the computers and a few hours later when someone shows up at 9PM to kick them out he’s hungry and tired and grumpy but the music was great.

The EP is done. They upload it to iTunes under his name and then Felicity goes to her record company and buys her way out of her contract. They wouldn’t understand her new sound anyway.

**

Glancing at her audience, the house was packed and while there were some little girls, the crowd had definitely aged up drastically.

“So what song would you like to hear first?” Felicity asked the crowd, a small smile on her lips.

“Making Music!” “Exhausted in Love”

“SOMETHING NEW!” Oliver covers up the name of their new song with a cough and starts with the intro, “Something borrowed, something blue. Dump that loser at the zoo, Babe, I’ll be your something new.”

“That is not even one of our songs.” Felicity laughed, not able to take her eyes off Oliver, “Be true, I could be in love with you, as long as you ditch that loser who, can’t compare to something new.”

She would kiss him right there.

They did most of their songwriting between the sheets, a red pen tucked behind her ear or in her messy ponytail, while he scribbled on the back of the takeout bag. He starts up with Exhausted in Love, and it’s supposed to be a sad song about the strain of love but the crowd loves it and when they get off stage after two encores and signing autographs for anyone who wanted one, he carries her to her in their dressing room, his hands grabbing anything reach.

“Nuh-uh.” Felicity disenchanted herself from his spell and took a step back. “We have an early morning. Music video, remember?”

“If we went with my idea, I would lick shots off your stomach for hours.” Oliver steals one kiss, pressing his body against hers his hands on her face and she melts.

The door whips open to their dressing room, some lady in a suit and sunglasses whisking her way in and then standing expectantly, “You need a manager.”

“Uh, no we don’t.” Oliver responds, annoyed with the constant stream of interruptions into his sex life.

“My name is Laurel Lance. I’ll see you at the video shoot in the morning, and if you could keep your dirty hands off each other until then that would be great. The whole sexual tension angle will make the video that much better. You two are like Johnny and June on steroids.”

Felicity puts a finger to Oliver’s lips before he mentions not needing performance enhancing drugs.

Living out of suitcases had its charms but being on the road, in Oliver’s truck with the gear in the back, the two of them spending every minute together was- exhausting.  He drove her to her house, with the gate and the view and he heads inside like he owned the place.

“You know you hired me, and then our contracts were burned and then I’m from New York. I never exactly had time to find a place. Following you around the country like an idiot.”

He’s in her space again, and he smelled bad and she smelled bad, but she couldn’t want him more.

“I’m taking a shower, then I’m sleeping in my bed.” She was firm. So firm.

But then so was he.

“Not even, a little fooling around?”

“Nope. None. You can shower in the guest bathroom.”

Turning on her heel she expected him to follow her but he didn’t. He was however, still wet and sleeping in her bed when she was done.

“Are we a duo?”

Oliver wordlessly lifts his arm up for her to snuggle in and pretends to be asleep again. “Yes.”

“Should we have a name or like Oliver and Felicity? Sonny and Cher-style?”

“Loud Music.”

Oliver can tell she hates the name but they go with it anyway. 

**

“The makeup is to keep your smug face from looking too shiny.” Felicity explained, looking into the mirror. Usually at these sorts of things, they plastered it on, blew her hair out and sucked and tucked every inch of her into some barely decent outfit.

Picking her makeup and clothes was a refreshing change, and thankfully she had enough money to support them until they started making money. They curled her hair the way she liked and maybe her lipstick was a little redder than normal.

Walking through the racks of clothing in the trailer, she picked a few t-shirts that she felt suited Oliver before she turns around and he’s wearing a really, really nice suit. Like really nice. Like, nicer than awards show, suit billionaires wear to board meetings when they’re trying to show off.

She’s so surprised she drops the t-shirts she was holding and the front of her robe that she was holding shut.

“Maybe I’m overdressed if you’re wearing that.”

Instead of picking up the t-shirts or her robe or anything useful she blurts, “You can’t play guitar in that.”

“Who said anything about me playing the guitar?”

Handing her the sides for the music video, signed off by their “Manager Laurel Lance”, Felicity was definitely going to kill Laurel. If the bedroom scene wasn’t enough, her wardrobe for the “pool” scene was- nothing.

For a song called “Making Music” there was a lot of innuendo- oh shit. Making Music _was_ an innuendo. So was Exhausted in Love. _Damnit, Smoak_.

She wasn’t used to having someone else there- in her dressing room, on stage with her. It was cheaper to rent one trailer and now she was nervous.

“I can turn around or look through my fingers if you’d like. Or I could pick out your outfit.” Oliver held up the green bikini and really simple lace dress that was perfect, “I just picked the things that I’d like to see on the floor when I take them off. And I like green.”

Feeling adventurous, she dropped the robe and pulled on the dress before stepping into the heels she had been eying earlier. “Let’s go do this and then I’m going to kill Laurel Lance.”

Pulling him by the tie, she yanked him out of the trailer and what Laurel lacked in communication she made up for in execution. Watching the B-Roll footage of her dragging Oliver’s sorry ass through a mansion by his tie was super hot. Even after throwing him in the pool, his head whips back like a damn Baywatch model the water dripping down his abs as he whips off the suit jacket and untucks his shirt while walking out of the pool.

“Cut!” The words are out of Felicity’s mouth before she can stop them and she tackles Oliver the second he’s out of the pool. The front of her dress is soaked through but he carries her back into the mansion they were renting and tosses her on the bed.

“Who needs a script? This stuff writes itself.” Oliver glanced down to the giant wet spot on her nice dress which probably left little to the imagination.

“Are you guys done?” Laurel asked, “We have interviews scheduled after this and then we’re in the editing bay tomorrow.”

“What about the rest of the video?”

“We got all the footage we needed.” Laurel smirked, “Now get changed so we can leave.”

Laurel works for seventeen hours before asking for her contract, and that’s after they’ve meet with record labels, had an interview with MTV and recording time in the studio. Things with Oliver were- easy. She had someone to bounce ideas off, and someone to back her up about the music.

The music video drops and they go on talk shows and Laurel definitely earns her 15%.

They have shows and they argue over the track listing on the album and maybe once or twice one of them storms off while recording and then they make up later and she meets his WASP-y mother and they fight about not meeting hers and they fight over the next single and then they break up for the longest 3 hours of her life.

She walks around New York, because of course it’s New York- they were in town and she had just met his mother and his sister and it’s cold and miserable and she’s too cold to cry. Someone in the subway is singing an acoustic cover of _Exhausted in Love_ and it takes her longer than she’d like to admit to realize its Oliver.

He plays the song six times in a row and she sits down and writes a song about old love, loves that last lifetimes and in places that don’t thrive. It’s on a Starbucks napkin and smudged but Laurel sends it to her friend Cisco and with no vocal or music he gets it into a movie-

By the time American Music Awards come around again she’d already won an Academy Award, A Grammy, and has a wall of plaques from the time they’d been together. They walk the carpet in their much nicer finery, and she walks up to the stage to get her award, but Oliver is blocking the aisle with a ring on live national television.

He starts singing a new song he wrote called Broken Promises and she gets her award handed to her while he serenades her, slipping the ring on her finger and promising not to buy her a dog, or a new car or a new life and she’s sure whoever produces this shindig is going to be fining them but she couldn’t care less.

In the press line, the flashes are blinding and they ask about the future of their music and their wedding, and she jokes that Vera Wang’s people should contact her about that while she walks off stage.

The next morning when Vera calls, Felicity may have freaked out a little.

Just a little.


	2. Making Music (Extended Remix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I may have fleshed this fic out into a 18k word monstrosity.  
> If you ever wanted to read the same fic, just longer: this is for you.
> 
> Dedicated to: bstokeling91, SognareDiamore and sourpatch26

“You’re crazy.”

Felicity looked over at her driver, the only one of her “team” who bothered to come to her birthday “dinner” (PR stunt) and smiled, “It’s simple. I get someone they can’t stand to be in my band. I get caught with my panties down in public, so to speak, and then they drop me. Maybe I can do some songs with a rapper like DJ Mustard. Maybe do a tour in Europe.”

Diggle, bless his heart, chose to think about his words between bites of steak, “And who is bad enough to piss them off but not bad enough to burn you?”

Felicity had prepared for this very moment, tossing the Us Weekly on the table.

_The Archers Breakup Amidst Scandal: Lead Singer Tommy Merlyn and Guitarist Oliver Queen citing ‘irreconcilable differences’_

“You’re even crazier than I thought. And as your friend, driver, and lover of steak, I will do whatever it takes to make this happen.”

“Good because his new agent is your ex-wife.” Felicity smiled. “I just need him to come to an audition. How hard could that be?”

FOUR WEEKS.

Felicity wasn’t sure if you could think in all caps, but it had been four weeks since Diggle had made his phone call to his ex-wife Lyla and she had not heard back from the illustrious Oliver Queen. Stopping to take pictures of with her fan club, she smiled brightly at the young girls wearing Ash Monroe t-shirts.

Her celebrity friends hated their younger fans. Bubble gum pop and songs about boys but she was perfectly happy with the girls who grew up with her and the ones who were just finding her music. If she could ever get her own music released it would just be icing on the cake. She liked to think her fans were smarter than that.

“I’m going to the hairstylist, do you guys wanna come?”

She didn’t know why they always thought she was kidding when that happened, but they resumed their shopping and she headed into the salon to get her trademark dark tresses significantly blonder. Her plan wasn’t working so Plan B was make herself into the artist she wanted to be.

Which meant she would be going to the AMA’s blonde and the dress they picked out was going to be at least three inches shorter. On both sides. No one wears a turtleneck in L.A.- even if it was September. The paparazzi caught up to her at Starbucks and she let one of them- Barry- buy her a drink.

“I’m sorry about them.” Barry motioned to his “colleagues” at the window, trying to push their cameras inside while the door was open.

“You don’t have to apologize for them.”

“It’s like they lack human decency,” Barry sighed, “I mean photography used to be something and now we all stalk celebrities for a living.”

They mainly stalked her because they wanted a reaction. And she didn’t like disguises. They would just need to be disappointed on both counts. Seeing a familiar face she smiled when the girl stopped at her table.

 “Hey. Felicity!”

“Camila. How are the rest of the girls? You’re still touring right? Camila, this is my friend Barry. He’s an aspiring photographer, part time paparazzo.”

She gave a fake-disgusted look before breaking out into a smile. Smooshing their faces together, she motioned for Barry to snap a few shots. Camilla tossed her hair back and winked before sauntering out the back door.

Barry’s jaw dropped, “I just got a picture of Camila Cabello kissing Ash Monroe’s cheek. I might be in shock.”

Felicity made him promise that he’d owe her one in the future before grabbing her coffee and heading towards the salon. Sara was more than happy to have her walk-in whenever she needed and the two of them talked about the new guy she was seeing who was an actor.

“Isn’t everyone in L.A. an actor?”

“Some of us are international pop stars who get their hair cut by a nobody in the best salon in L.A.” Sara huffed, “I mean I’m honored, but don’t you have a private hairdresser?”

“He’s French and doesn’t do anything but frown at me.” Felicity liked watching her hair getting done more than the conversation. The foils and the hair dryer and the texturizing spray. Normal people jobs in a normal world.

Growing up in Vegas wasn’t as glamorous as people liked to believe and if a talent scout hadn’t been staying at the Palms when she was singing in the lounge, she would have gone to MIT to study computer programming. Singing had always been her hobby and though her manager liked to throw around the word savant a lot she had just always been good at making music.

“Really? MIT?”

“I produce my own songs, you know. Computers. Music. I do it all. I’d book my own gigs if the record label would let me.” Felicity explained, smiling at the drastic change to blonde while Sara made a few final snips around her face. Cutting six inches and a dye job would certainly turn some heads.

“Please. It would be so easy to get a new agent. My sister has been trying to sign you for months.”

“Your sister’s an agent?” The gears were running and Plan B might just become Plan C if her upcoming show at Hotel Café didn’t go to plan.

“Yeah. But I don’t tell her about you. Hairdresser/Client confidentiality.”

Sara has never charged her the going celebrity rate, but she pays her normal fee plus a huge enough tip to cover the rest. And took every opportunity to plug her in interviews.

Kissing her cheek, Felicity grabbed the rest of her coffee and did her best to rush across town for sound check.

If this got any buzz at all that Oliver Queen would be putty in her hands.

**

“You know I’ve been in this godforsaken hellhole for three days now and I still don’t understand why.” Oliver threw his cell phone against the mattress and made a mental note to fire his agent. Lyla had rented him a house but apparently had sworn off Los Angeles due to an ex-husband problem and Oliver really didn’t care. She should be there to negotiate any potential deals.

Audition after audition had led to nothing and despite being several different magazine’s top choice for best guitarist in the country, he was jobless. And he’d be broke if Tommy got his way and got the masters and rights to The Archers music.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He’d done enough strategic interviews to not seem desperate but things were not going well for him. And Thea only had a year left of school at Pearsons. Telling your little sister you couldn’t afford her education was not going to go well.

Getting emancipated at 17 was the best decision he’d ever made. But leaving Thea with their stepmonster was one of his biggest regrets. And when his mother died he promised to take care of her. He stopped partying, got the band on track-

Then Tommy had to go and screw them over on SNL by not showing up. And sleep with his designated fuck buddy but that was neither here nor there.

Now he was in L.A. watching some little pop starlet sing live. Apparently he was going to be pleasantly surprised with this one and if rumors of her firing her lead guitarist were true, he and his axe would be fitting in perfectly to her winter tour rehearsals.

Heading down the block to the venue, he was grateful for the free pass with his guitar strapped to his back. Best way to get in was to pretend to be in the band.

“Um, this is an Archers cover. The song is called _Down for Breakfast_.” Ash Monroe looked like any other girl off the street, floppy hat, summer sun dress on. Removing her hat, he was blown away. The girl was gorgeous. California Summer, Ocean Waves, classic beauty.

Songs seemed to write themselves without Tommy hedging him on all the time and he checked his pockets for something to write with. The bartender handed him some paper and he started scribbling a song about broken promises.

The girl mutilated his song but in a good way. In her key, the self-proclaimed _Meninist_ song sounded more like a love song. But the new song he was practically carving into the bar top- the new song he could see so perfectly in his head. With pianos and the bass line, Ash’s voice would fit the melody and he’d sing backup even though that was probably going to be a colossal mistake.

When her set was over, he found himself drawn to her dressing room.

Standing outside of it awkwardly, he raised his hand to knock but then changed his mind. He’d see her at the auditions and then he could woo her skirt off.  _Broken Promises_ would be huge for the two of them, he just knew it.

Getting back to his hotel room, he googled “Ash Monroe” for a lot longer than he’d like to admit. She was a good singer, no a great singer, and as fate would have it, news broke that she had fired her guitarist.

Calling his agent, he finally agreed to her ridiculous request to audition for this girl. “Where’s her booking agent tomorrow? I’ll be there. Downtown at Merlyn HQ?”

“Actually Felicity requested that you and Roy audition at her rehearsal and then begin immediately. They’re on the road in a week and a half.”

Oliver got the details from Lyla before asking, “Who the fuck is Felicity?”

Who let singers do their own auditions? Disheartened, he shoved Broken Promises back into his guitar case and prepared himself for his shitty audition. It was stupid- flying to LA with his guitar and a few duffel bags.

Lyla had even pulled strings with his (former) record label to make this happen.

Pathetic. He was pathetic.

Turning in early, he got up and pulled on the same t-shirt he’d been wearing yesterday and got an Uber to pick him up to her rehearsal space. It was an old school building, a space her record label had acquired for test runs and then he sat in a waiting room for three fucking hours.

In that time he got lunch from kraft services that was- organic and made by some over-hyped chef, but it was delicious. He went back for seconds and overheard the band leader whining about the lead guitarist getting fired.

If the guitar strapped to his back wasn’t a clue, maybe the asshole didn’t deserve to be a band leader if he was going to talk shit in public areas like that.

The other dude in the waiting room was jamming out to something, and just as Oliver was going to ask about it- he bolted out of the room and never came back. He was just about to kick his feet up for a nap when her assistant came and got him.

Good thing he drank his tequila shot in the bathroom. It was time to rock, and then get the hell out of dodge.

**

Arguing with Malcolm over her traditional “fan” showcase had gone spectacularly horrible. She had done this every time she went on tour and the _Ashie’s_ had come out in droves. She donated the proceeds to charity and had fun because they didn’t care if the lighting was perfect or if her fake eyelashes were falling out. They came for her and the music and that was all that mattered.

He finally agreed but he turned her sound check into a makeup test for every possible scenario ever, which cut hours into her stage time. She liked to run the set at least twice the day before any gig and now she was all dolled up with nowhere to go.

“Hair and Makeup took longer than my sound check.” She had gotten out of the wardrobe fitting thankfully but two songs and the band had to leave. Fuck him. Fuck her stupid manger and her stupid booking agent- stopping abruptly, her assistant, Caitlin motioned towards the man at the end of the hallway.

“Oliver Queen has been waiting for his audition.”

He walked towards them and Felicity gulped. She knew he was attractive. Hell all of The Archers were attractive but some time off was definitely good for Oliver Queen. He got a haircut and some nice fitting jeans and- he was talking. To her.

“-Do you even know who Jimi Hendrix is?”

How _dare_ he. There were fewer things she held sacred besides her authentic Jimi Hendrix t-shirt, that any well-known fan would know was from his last concert and he may have sweat or spit on this particular shirt her mother got for her off ebay.

Unclipping his guitar, which looked way too cheap to belong “To the Best Guitarist of their Generation”. She plucked a few strings, and he didn’t even tune it before the audition? She sees many things flash through her mind, mainly Plan A sailing out the window.

Grabbing the pick from behind his bracelet, she hummed along, trying to tune the damn thing, and then started the chorus of “Bold As Love”. Mouthing the words, she did a little spin and bobbed her head to the beat.

Still playing, she was gonna tell the prick how she really felt, “If I let assholes like you dictate my music I never would have gotten anywhere in this business. My last lead guitarist sucked live and pre-recorded all of the songs on my last tour. I don’t lip sync and I expect the people backing me up to do the same. Now you’re going to start over and compliment me on my t-shirt from his last tour and you’re going to impress me up on that stage.”

She looked up and they were in the doorway.

“Cool t-shirt babe.” Oliver Queen winks at her and she wasn’t sure what the weird feeling in the pit of her stomach was, but it was definitely something akin to flirtation. Or attraction. Two things she hadn’t personally experienced in a long time. She was too busy for novelties like relationships. She liked having the freedom to head to the studio at 2AM whenever she wanted.

Begrudgingly handing him back his guitar he didn’t even bother shouldering it, “Over the top” was apparently Oliver Queen’s middle name, because he winked at her and then he took a running leap towards the stage. Sliding on his knees, he stopped right where the amp was to connect his guitar. Still on the floor, he started playing “Hit Me Baby One More Time”. If the song were meant for a rock group and not Britney Spears.

Standing up towards his mark, he transitioned into “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” with the grace of a seasoned musician and if she were being honest with herself, she was impressed. The strap was nudged onto his body while he showed off some riffs and when the roadies started to bob along to the beat she knew he had the job.

Oh shit. Not one to be outdid in an audition, she copied his earlier movements and ran towards the stage, sliding past the mic and heading for the drum set. She started singing along to the Britney Spears part and couldn’t help the laugh that came out when he screwed up.

“You punking out on me, Queen?”

When he started singing along with her, she knew she made the right choice.

Two more songs and her fingers hurt from drumming, she definitely needed some Throat Coat and she was exhausted, blood pumping through her body. Roy was an old friend and hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset about not auditioning.

**

Music, while it was his job, was something he used to enjoy. Before politics and the drama and the whole Tommy-situation, it was fun. The Archers played dive bars and weddings before Adam Levine discovered them and then the things like fame and money drove him, and the people he considered his brothers, to fall apart. Slade was in rehab, Ray was making his own band and Tommy was apparently acting now.

The only thing he had left was music and he’d forgotten how fun it could be. And Blondie definitely gave him a run for his money. He’d always been good at picking up covers, but she progressed the drums before lyrics and he’d fumbled more times then he’d like to admit to keep up with her.

Breaking into a solo, he didn’t really know he was playing _Broken Promises_ before he managed to crawl on his knees towards one of Felicity’s water bottles. Bending over, he got it into his mouth before chugging it back with his teeth. He'd say ‘Look ma, no hands’ to the crowd if Felicity wasn’t looking at him like she was going to kill, then eat him.

He wasn’t used to singing so much- that was Tommy’s arena- but he needed to show her he could keep up. Spitting out the empty water bottle, he looked at his “drummer” expectantly, ready to go again.

“Okay guys, show’s over.” Felicity told the crew, putting the drumsticks back where she’d gotten them and motioning towards her dressing room.

Her assistant waited expectantly at the bottom of the stage but Felicity told her to go home, “We’re just going to go over some technical things for tomorrow. I’ll see you here bright and early, Caitlin.”

Following her towards her dressing room, she caught him by the wrist and slammed him against the door while she climbed him like a monkey. He needed a shower and some dinner and anything but America’s Sweetheart sucking on his neck.

Adrenaline and maybe partial deafness and maybe the tequila shot were to blame for his serious lack of judgement but he slid her sweatpants down and turned them around so she was against the door.

One hand grabbing her ass, she wrapped her legs around his torso while he dug for his wallet and a condom. His fingers weren’t cooperating and she had moved to suck on his earlobe, which was a distraction. A really good distraction.

After The Archers broke up girls avoided him like the plague in New York but the way Felicity was moving against him was damn near magical.

This whole shit show was a distraction and he had finally given up, fingertips finally feeling the foil package. Somehow he managed to drop his jeans just low enough to get the stupid condom on and couldn’t get enough grip on her red panties so he just ripped the damn thing off.

Felicity bent forward to take her t-shirt off, but he was too fucking hard to wait for that.

 “Leave the shirt on.” He grunted before hoisting her against the wall just enough to slide between her legs. Thrusting came like second nature to him, her legs going slack while she panted against his ear. While he was impressed at his own prowess he had lost the truly amazing angle they had previously been fucking at.

Which led him to think that this was a huge mistake. He swore off musicians, and there was too much drama, especially now when he had nowhere else to go and his career was drying up. He needed this to work and the sex would have to come last.

 “You’re thinking too loudly. Shut up and fuck me.” Felicity readjusted her mouth on his neck and sucked hard enough to leave a hickey, Oliver unable to hold back the muscle spasm in his leg when she did.

“You’re _bossy_.” Oliver hissed when she brought her ankles together around his waist.

“You like it.”

He did.

They don’t leave the dressing room until he literally can’t sleep because he’s so hungry, the two of them going to Denny’s at 3 o’clock in the morning. She orders for him, which is mildly annoying, but her feet are in his lap and he’s too distracted by her toes to complain.

Add to the fact that she’s not wearing underwear and he is downright distracted while she orders enough food to feed three people.

“They say that when you’re hungry, your stomach is actually smaller. Which is false because I never get to eat more than three bites when my manager is around and I'm still always hungry.”

Felicity inhales her food (and the milkshake) and flicks off an imaginary agent or manager before eating a piece of pie.

Oliver picks at his own omelet and the hunger pains start up again and he finally starts to eat in earnest, Felicity excusing herself to go to the bathroom and he can’t help but stare and she shakes her hips to the Musak blasting overhead.

He had to keep it professional. He needed the gig. That would be his one and only fond memory of the blonde and things-

Felicity returned two condoms from the bathroom vending machine and a box for the rest of the food she was bringing with them, “I leave it in the crew fridge so my manager thinks I’m eating the celery he leaves me.”

Shoving the rest of his hash browns in his mouth he mumbles, “Let’s go.”

He was going to drive her home and be done with her- sexually. He would be professional and polite and never ever think about her ass in those sweatpants or the condoms he was going to leave on the table.

He just needed to walk out the door.

One foot in front of the other.

Towards the door.

“Fuckedy fuck fuck.” He swore.

Looking down at his feet that had not moved, he grabbed the condoms and followed her back towards her tiny Mini Cooper. Rehearsals didn’t start for another few hours and then that would seriously be the end of the relationship.

**

Exiting the theater, Felicity smiled, giving a wave to Tricia and Lexi from her fan site and Katie from her tumblr. Their mothers were in a tent a few yards back and she gave a little wave so they knew it was time to pack up.

“How are you guys doing, the press passes worked, right?”

Oliver stopped to look at her and then the girls before shaking his head and heading towards his car.

She chatted with the girls, talking about the set list and her new guitarist before wishing them goodnight and promising to send her new album to them when it was ready. Caitlin would tell her it was guilt, guilt that her new music might not inspire that sort of loyalty from the girls, and maybe it was.

Sliding into Oliver’s convertible, she kissed his cheek before motioning for him to drive.

“What was that?”

“Oh. That’s my fanclub.”

“They just sit there?” Oliver (and most people) didn’t understand her relationship with her superfans.

“Yeah. I DM’d them this morning on twitter.”

Oliver had been attempting to distract her from her phone while the two of them tried to write together, but he was more interested in finding out what color her underwear was instead of their first hit single.

The plan had been going well so far, she dumped her “songwriters” and when they dissed her on Twitter, her label was more than happy to let them go to work with some of their other talent. Which meant she had a whole new album to make. Which meant her sex buddy needed to earn the title by writing.

The sex was pretty inspirational on its own but he’d always get- distant- afterwards. Which if he wanted to be weird about their relationship, she was perfectly fine with that, “Let’s just get on with the making music and go from there.”

Oliver starts drumming on the steering wheel, the two of them pulling up to her house in the hills, tapping the beat on his chest all the way to the guest house and when he finally touches the 808 swore he didn’t know how to use, he’s got a beat down and is mumbling along.

“Making Music. Hear those sounds, the tempo drops and bum-dum-bum.”

He apparently did not appreciate that her guest house was her home recording studio, but she never invited him to stay in her home. They weren’t even dating, but apparently when writing the hook to a song you were weirdo-planning in your head, that was the perfect time to get naked.

“You stopped wearing sweat pants.” Oliver pointed out, rolling his chair closer to the bed so he could run his hands up and down her legs. Maybe he was insinuating that she wore sweat pants too much but when you had to hit the gym, do costume changes and then dance practice, sweats were easy to change out of and easy to carry.

They went on tour next week- that meant waxing and juice cleanse and all of the other things she planned on stopping when she finally got out of her contract from hell. Also she didn’t wear clothes to impress him if that’s what he was implying

 His hands were rough from the hours of guitar playing and when they slid underneath her skirt she tried to not let it distract her while she wrote down his lyrics and added in a few of her own.

“Felicity.”

“Yes?” She batted her eyelashes at him before going back to her tablet.

“You’re not wearing panties.” The grip on her thigh tightened.

She did her best to seem uninterested when his fingers came particularly close to her womanhood, “I took my panties off in the car- you weren’t paying attention. I think our next song should be called ‘Missed Opportunity’.”

Oliver bites his lip when he thinks he’s getting away with something. He’d be horrible at poker and just as he’s nudged her thighs apart with one hand, crawling on the floor in front of the bed, her phone rings.

“Ignore it.” Now _he_ was being bossy. And she definitely liked that. Especially if he kept up with their aggressive, semi-regular sex schedule.

Her skirt flips up in the air as he pokes his head in, kissing a trail before-

“Shit.” Felicity gasped, grabbing her phone and answering the call, “What?”

“You’ve been asked to perform at the AMA pre-show.”

Felicity can’t really speak or think or do anything but murmur appreciatively. Her agent doesn’t give her any details, but her assistant Caitlin would give her the information when the time came.

Her orgasm catches her by surprise, her thighs clenching around his head while she tried to remember how to breathe. Oliver apparently had many talents and she would tell him how great it was but she may have died while he was eating her out.

Her legs feel like jelly but he kisses his way out of her skirts and immediately goes for his guitar after wiping at his mouth. Jesus. He was still fully dressed and smelled like a man who’d been sweating all day and just gone down on her-

But the music was everything to him. Good. It would make it easier if things went south between them. Which was obviously what he was preoccupied with. But that switch had already been flipped and he was ready to make music.

“Get over here. I’m thinking trumpet solo- you have studio time booked tomorrow right?”

She didn’t think she was capable of moving unless Oliver wanted to do that again, because she was totally fine with that, “Give me a second. I need to remember how to sing.”

His laugh is probably the most attractive thing about him, especially when it takes him a minute to realize how flustered she is. Still. They’re both wired and exhausted and she’s thinking about the concert in Denver next week while he strums along absently on his guitar. He keeps floating back to the same chords, that aren’t part of _Making Music_ but some other song stuck in his head that she can’t place.

The music stops and Felicity can’t help but smile at the grown man, asleep with his guitar in his hand. Unclenching his hands, she returned the guitar back to his stand before turning off all of the lights and the computer. If he wanted to be fuck buddies that was fine with her. In the morning he’d be cold again, but if the music was good, she could deal with that.

Kissing his forehead, she headed back towards the house and tried not to smile too much when he was in bed with her when she woke up.

**

He couldn’t keep his hands off her.

The whole car ride to the airport she was in his lap while they made out like horny teenagers. Good music was the best high to chase and all of the stupid things like real life faded away into a blonde bombshell who was so _good._ He’d probably remember that show for the rest of his life.

The show was amazing enough as his first day as Band Leader but she went off-script and started jamming out with him during _Timely Hearts,_ one of Ash’s oldest songs. The two of them were forehead to forehead while the crowd screamed at them and it was- fucking magical or something.  Her phone had been ringing off the hook ever since they got back to their dressing room. Dressing Rooms had apparently become their thing and he didn’t know when he considered it “their” dressing room, but the costume ladies had brought his stuff in there since the beginning of the tour. It saved him the embarrassing walk of shame down the hallway. Which might or might not have happened in Denver and Portland.

Felicity ripped her own costume getting out of it and she took him hard and fast against the chaise lounge in their dressing room, and he had to cover her mouth to keep her from screaming out. Even when she bit his finger he had to keep his hand there because damn she was glistening and covered in body glitter and he- was definitely going to lose it before she was.

While one hand was doing its best to cover her mouth, the other was digging into her ass so hard she’d have bruises in the morning. Her punishment when the costume ladies would be swearing at him tomorrow for her broken outfit. And he got some sort of sick fascination seeing the light bruises on her skin where only he could see them.

The last time he’d done it, she’d thrown something at him but ran her fingers over the dark spots, blush creeping up her neck.

He must have a tell or something, Felicity’s brow crinkles in surprise but she moves her hand from the edge of the couch next to him to his mouth to keep him from calling out. It was one of those moments where you kinda remembered how you were getting rug burn from an old sofa, but then didn’t remember taking your pants off. And that was fucking hot.

“Jesus, Felicity.” Oliver flipped them over and used one arm to brace himself on the tiny couch, the other worming it’s way between her thighs to rub her clit.

Since both of his hands were busy she had to cover her own mouth and if that didn’t give him a tingly sensation all the way to his toes then nothing would. In fact that would probably be in his spank bank until he was old and couldn’t get it up anymore.

Her hair a mess, her lipstick falling off her face, she settled against his chest before bolting up, holding very crucial parts of his anatomy in the process. “Encore in the parking lot?”

“Fuck.” Scrambling for his discarded shirt, he wiped it across her face to get the stray makeup before flipping it right-side in and following her to the parking lot. She was a genius and got her own speakers system going on, and the two of them played from the stage door to a crowd of five thousand screaming teenage girls heading home and he had never been more in love-

Fuck. He needed to stop sleeping with musicians. It fucked up his brain.

He wasn’t exactly sure how they got home, but her hand was in his pants and he had pulled at least ten bobby pins out of hair before it looked closer to normal.

“This isn’t you.”

Felicity laughs at him, like an old joke and when they finally get home after Digg drops them off, he heads for the guest house while she goes inside.

She doesn’t come to join him. Which is weird. They’d done plenty of shows and this one, hands down, had been the best. Changing into a clean t-shirt, and boxers, he padded into the side door that led to the kitchen and found Felicity on the floor of her office.

Besides the constant streaming of hate tweets, saying that she wasn’t talented, there were the emails from her agent and her manager on another monitor and on the last one was her new schedule with a new personal trainer, a dietician and a vocal coach.

Sighing, he turned all of the monitors and stood her up, “First of all: Fuck them. Fuck all of them. Second of all: you are nowhere near fat so Malcom Merlyn can shut the hell up about that. Thirdly: You played a song, live, that you had barely even seen the sheet music to. And you were- remarkable.”

He had never been good at this part, where he had to be patient and understanding and deal with other people’s feelings. He had always kept his on the inside and written them down. While Felicity was a downright drill sergeant with every aspect of her tour, when it came to her jackass agent she was a little marshmallow. The days Malcom Merlyn came to rehearsal were the worst and if the tears streaming down her face afterwards were any indication, the hatred was mutual. Then her publicist and her manager-

He didn’t understand why she kept those tool bags around. Felicity could sing, play guitar and the drums and pretty much any instrument she picked up and she could work the 808- it took a lot to impress him but he was- smitten. Not that it was obvious, but he thought she deserved better.

“Can I trust you?”

Her words catch him off guard but he nods.

“I’m in the process of dumping my record label, manager, agent and basically everyone except for my hairstylist. I was going to use you to have them drop me, but I’m better with you. And we’ve got something- good. And if you want to bail out now, I understand.”

He’d think about it tomorrow. After he’d slept on it.

Heading for her bedroom, he knows his mind is made up before his head hits the pillow.

The next morning when he wakes up, Felicity curled against his chest, he returns to the key to the rental place and moves his two duffel bags into her guest house. This was working and he planned on seeing it though, even if that meant they weren’t sleeping together anymore.

**

Felicity looked at Sara expectantly motioning to the new dress and makeup, she looked the part of a bored celebrity out for a day of shopping. “What’s with- the look?”

Sara did a little twirl and pouted over her shoulder before bouncing over to her side, “Today I am Ash Monroe’s personal stylist. At least forty paparazzo’s will take my picture and someone will undoubtedly want me to do their hair or makeup. Networking, as the cool kids say.”

She doubted “cool kids” said things like that but she was happy to have the company. Felicity hated shopping alone, mainly because she was horrible at it, and her own stylist had a Kardashian to dress for a charity event, Malcolm not trusting her to shop alone.

Removing her designer sunglasses and propping them on her head she entered the first store looking at their dress selection. The AMA’s were in less than a week and she still needed a dress that would piss her manager off.

When they said they wanted “pink” they meant all-American girl, girly pink. Well she was going to find the perfect dress to get her on the cover of Us Weekly.

“Ash?”

Felicity still hesitated when people called her by her stage name, but she recognized the bassist from The Archer’s anywhere. Well she supposed he had his new band now, but that was beside the point. The only thing she knew about the band’s breakup was that things were so bad that childhood friends had just ended it and the only thing Oliver got to keep was 10% of the residuals.

She had no idea what Ray Palmer got out of the deal.

“My agent said I should conveniently show up at this store, at this time. I just didn’t think I would want to talk to you this badly.”

Felicity realized that he wasn’t talking to her, but Sara, and she let out the awkward breath she was holding. Telling your friend with benefits’ former bandmate that you weren’t looking for anything else right now would be awkward.

“Oh, I’m not Ash.” Sara giggled, “But its fine if you talk to me. Naked.”

Okay. Still Awkward. “Ray. Hi. This is Sara, my stylist, best friend, all-around great woman.”

Without breaking eye contact, Sara chucked a few pink dresses at her and tossed her hair over her shoulder motioning for the door. Ray was all too happy to follow her out the door.

Felicity wasn’t sure what happened, but Sara ran back to switch sunglasses with her and headed back out the door.

Leaving her with three dresses that she didn’t even know how to unzip.

Buying all three of them and the coolest shoes they had on display, she headed out of the store and decided she better make an appearance at the gym.

She hated the gym.

Like really hated it.

Driving down the street, she waved to the guys with cameras near the entrance. Breezing past security, she headed straight for the locker room to wash off her makeup and change. Cute sports bra, check. Cute gym shorts, check. Headphones- shit.

Deciding suffering without her music was not worth it, she abruptly turned out of the locker room only to see Oliver running on the treadmill. He looked good. Really good.

Sweat dripping down his Greek (or Roman or maybe even Alien) features because that was the only reason someone was that hot, she started walking on the machine next to him, doing her best not to stare at his ass bouncing up and down.

“Felicity?” Oliver frowned looking at the other star-studded array of people in the cardio room, “What are you doing _here_?”

“Walking?” She was frankly a little bit offended at his look but he quickly smiled and it was forgotten.

He dug a second pair of headphones out of his pocket and connected them to the splitter on his iPod. Of course he was working even at the gym.

The intro to “Making Music” cues up and listening to herself sing was always weird but this wasn’t. She sounded like a completely different person. There was a lot more vocalizing then she liked in the chorus but if it sounded this good acapella by the time they hit the studio her next single would be amazing.

Not that she could record on company time. Malcolm Merlyn wasn’t going to see her masters. Period. Clean break and all that nonsense. It’d be a lot easier to transition from the label if she had a few singles under her belt so they could shop around.

“This is good. Like really good.” Felicity smiled watching the big rocker jam out to the summer’s next pop ballad. She’d need to move up her timeline if things were going to work out the way she wanted.

She would be singing a medley of her “classics” at the AMA’s just enough to get the crowd pumped up for the undoubtedly boring awards show. Not that she didn’t like potentially winning awards, but the audience doesn’t know what they signed up for being at an awards show taping.

But she and Oliver would make the best of it, that’s what duos did. Sat there and got photographed together-

Felicity’s not sure when she thought of them as a duo but Making Music was just as much of his baby as it was hers. Blood sweat and tears, the whole nine yards. Now she just needed to convince him that they could work and be something really great.

Maybe that pink dress she couldn’t unzip would motivate him to come around to her way of thinking.

**

“It’s the American Music Awards. Not the Grammys.” Oliver didn’t understand why he was going. He didn’t want to go. And he was perfectly fine with wearing his standard button down and slacks. But one of the three stooges had insisted he dress up for this shindig and it was definitely not in his contract-

Until he got one look at Felicity and vowed to kill anyone who came within a ten foot radius.

The dress was short, the pink number hugged in all the right places and left some things to the imagination in others-

“You tie is crooked.” She chided, straightening his bowtie.

“Your dress is about to be crooked on the floor.” Oliver responded, pulling her body flush against his own. The dressing room was empty save for the two of them and he may have sworn the last time was the last time but he was quickly changing his mind.

“Don’t you dare!” Felicity giggled pressing a kiss to his jawline anyway, “Did you write anything today?”

He did but he wasn’t particularly in a sharing mood when his libido was raging. Putting on the jacket, he held an arm for her and walked her to the limo, where her standard gaggle of thirty superfans were waiting outside of their rehearsal space.

They left an hour early for everything so the tweens could update their blogs on everything Ash Monroe. Which was the worst stage name when her actual name was Felicity. She wanted to protect her mother in Vegas but Ash Monroe was a ghost. Not a real person.

She even talked some of the roadies into setting up folding chairs for them- this girl was unreal.

_“So are you Ash’s boyfriend?”_

They generally never spoke to him or any of the crew exiting the building. He talks to the girl who is definitely too young to be outside a cold building for hours about the definition of “boyfriend”. They decide it’s someone who he thought was “super” pretty and he liked spending time with. Who he wanted to have his first kiss with. He doesn’t want to ruin the girl’s life so he goes with her definition.

“Yeah. Go scoop MTV with that one.”

By the time they get downtown, the internet has erupted with dating rumors and for the first time Felicity is flustered. He liked seeing the blush that crept along her cheeks. Pulling her to his side, he kissed her cheek not particularly enjoying the taste of makeup.

“Yes. We’re dating. And Ash will be performing a new song tonight, “Making Music” that we co-wrote.” Oliver really loved getting one over on her majesty. It wasn’t like her publicist could be bothered to come to an award show. He’d find out later and Oliver was prepared to help her fight that battle when it came.

She was only performing for the preshow and even though they hadn’t gotten the bridge just right or even practiced the song she gets up there and sings her ass off, while he resists the urge to run up on stage. She stage dives into his arms and he runs for the entrance to the damn award show where she loses to some child who didn’t even write their own music and-

“It’s fine.”

Apparently Felicity did vodka shots before award shows and instead of the blind panic he was expecting she seemed- relaxed. Content. Totally silent and cool which was definitely not the Felicity Smoak he had come to know and love-

Love? Where the fuck did that come from?

He had carried her around the event one leg bent near his hip, the other dragging on the floor. If anyone were to glance over they would have assumed they were dancing but no. He preferred that her breasts weren’t a conversation piece on twitter all night.

Some bigwig record executive corners her on the way to the bathroom and by the time he’s close enough to eavesdrop, all he could hear was some bullshit about calling in the morning.

“The plan is working!” Felicity is her bubbly, giggly self and plants a kiss on his nose- in front of god and everyone- and smiles.

In the limo, her driver, John Diggle, asks how the evening went, and she replied that it went fine.

The plan, is apparently to leave her record label that could care less about her voice or 3.9 million twitter followers, ten million views on YouTube or anything really.

“It’s pathetic that my agent didn’t even want to come to a show where I am performing. They did say I could lose a few pounds- speaking of, John let’s get burgers, I’m starving.”

**

By the time Diggle drops them off at her house, she’s missed 47 calls from her agent, 10 from her manager and three from Sara. Oliver had been silent after the burgers, his thumb gently brushing against her knuckles while she talked with Diggle about his brother in Afghanistan.

She had read the tweets about her new boyfriend, but she could tell it wasn’t sitting well with him. They’d been at a happy medium lately, write all night, go to sleep, go to rehearsal go to lunch, get ready for the concert and sing. Then have really hot, mind-blowingly amazing sex and then repeat.

“I’ve got a new guitar- if you wanna see it.”

Felicity almost choked on her milkshake, “Does that line work?”

She looks up at him, his blue eyes looked more conflicted but he was resolute on this alleged new guitar angle. Fine. Two people could play that game. She tips Diggle for the ride and then exits the town car, Barry asleep on her front step.

Oliver grabs her hand before kicking Barry’s foot, her friend jolting awake, camera at the ready. She wasn’t sure how photographs got sold, but the picture with Camilla had been on the front cover of People and the Hot List in EW, so it must have done well for him.

“Please tell me you didn’t jump the security fence to sleep on my girlfriend’s front step.” Oliver was being grumpypants, so she was going to draw it out as long as possible.

Grabbing his lapels, she did her best to shove her tongue down his throat while Barry took the pictures. Even in the heels he was still significantly taller than she was, but he grabbed her face and finally bent down to make her happy.

Pulling away, his hands rubbed her cheeks, “Don’t sell that picture for less than 10,000 dollars. And if you’ll smart you’ll come back in the morning.”

They would need publicity and if they could manage to really finish a few songs they could have an EP out by next week.

Considering their conversation, Oliver waved goodbye sarcastically before hoisting her up over his shoulder and carrying her towards the guest house. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of protesting but she did kick off her heels and hoped they hit him on the way down.

Bending over to plant her on the ground, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and it landed in the laundry basket while he moved to her back to unzip her dress.

Not going to let him have the final word, she turned around, one hand on her hip, “Where’s the guitar?”

Stepping out of her dress she makes grabby hands at him while he returns from the living room and starts moving her fingers over the strings. He was in his underwear, waiting for her to finish, but she grabs her headphones and starts jamming out in earnest singing whatever song pops into her head.

Sticking the red pen from the coffee table behind her ear, she stops her impromptu jam session to write down some of the nonsense she’d been singing when through the glass door she sees Barry, a few pizzas and the woman she assumes is his girlfriend.

Pulling one of Oliver’s t-shirts over her head she opens the door and when she comes back Oliver has unplugged her headphones and both of his guitars are plugged in ready for them to jam out.

Iris, his girlfriend, is a reporter and she is furiously scribbling everything down. They all look exhausted but she’s too hyped up from life to even try to sleep. Barry and Iris leave and Oliver mumbles something, “Exhausted in Love”

Which puts her on another tangent and she’s got the melody, the hook, the everything, really- when she realizes she’s alone in the living room. He’s pretending to sleep in his bedroom, which they rarely use anymore. Sighing she pulled back the covers and turned on her side, watching Oliver stare at the dots on the ceiling.

Just because he may or may not be her boyfriend, didn’t mean that she stopped being a musician. He might have wanted to talk about things like twitter definitions or their current sleeping arrangements, but that really didn’t matter, “Music is everything to me.”

“So am I the melody or the guitar solo?”

“You’re the Grammy I’m going to win and the song stuck in my head when I close my eyes.”

Kissing his cheek she doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he was just too warm and soft-

**

He follows her to the studio for hours and he’s exhausted and needs coffee but new of their relationship has hit the twittersphere and her agent calls and she hangs up before telling him to go again with the chorus.

She apparently can produce her own songs. And was dumb enough to want him to sing backup.

She sits at the controls, and even though he can’t hear her through the glass, she sings along, putting her baseball cap backwards and turning the knobs. Twisting his guitar around his body, he starts playing un-prompted, the chords drowning out his vocals. Felicity stops jamming and looks up at him and he sings louder.

She motions for him to cut and hits the button on the console, “I didn’t know you played acoustic.”

Walking away from the mic, he picks up the clarinet and the box drum. He had spent his summers indoors, like a good rich kid, and the only forms of entertainment his stepmonster allowed was music.  He could probably play any instrument put in front of him.

Picking up at the bridge, he kicked the box to the beat while he played a clarinet solo.

“You’re shitting me.”

Mumbling around the reed Oliver chucked, “Are you recording this or what? We’ve only got the studio booked until 4AM.”

She motions for him to go ahead and when he looks up after the second take she’d removed her kitten sweater and her blouse-

“What the fu-”

Dressed in her underwear he wondered if one of his top fantasies was going to come true but alas, she only spilled her coffee. “I don’t have time to go home and change. Out of the booth, I need to redo the first verse.”

 _Exhausted in Love_ was completely different than any of her other songs and it was- amazing. They fall asleep on the couch near the computers and a few hours later when someone shows up at 9AM to kick them out he’s hungry and tired and grumpy but the music was great.

The single is done. They upload it to iTunes under his name and with a few well-placed tweets and an article about their new direction, Oliver feels confident when Felicity goes to her record company and buys her way out of her contract. They wouldn’t understand her new sound anyway.

**

Stepping onto the stage, Felicity kicked off the ridiculous high heels they insisted she wear, wiped off the lipstick that was drying her lips out and brought her Nalgene bottle that her manager said was trashy. She was done. Over. She was going to do things her way and if that wasn’t enough for them they could fire her. She had music and that was all that mattered.

Oliver stood next to her in the shadows, his guitar strapped to his back, “You sure about this?”

“Yes. I am.”

He tucked her mic pack into her pants and slapped her butt once for good measure. She glared at him but her nerves were effectively gone. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she smiled. She was ready.

“Let’s go bring the house down.”

Felicity walked out on stage, the venue only had a couple hundred people but they were going to get the show of a lifetime.

“My name is Felicity Smoak, some of you know me by my stage name- but I’m not using that anymore. In fact, I fired my manager, my publicist and my label. But Oliver Queen and I are going to play you a live set until the cops come get us and pry us off the stage.”

Glancing at her audience, the house was packed and while there were some little girls, the crowd had definitely aged up drastically.

“So what song would you like to hear first?” Felicity asked the crowd, a small smile on her lips.

“Making Music!” “Exhausted in Love”

“SOMETHING NEW!” Oliver covers up the name of their new song with a cough and starts with the intro, “Something borrowed, something blue. Dump that loser at the zoo, Babe, I’ll be your something new.”

“That is not even one of our songs.” Felicity laughed, not able to take her eyes off Oliver across the stage, “Be true, I could be in love with you, as long as you ditch that loser who, can’t compare to something new.”

She could kiss him right there.

He starts up with Exhausted in Love, and it’s supposed to be a sad song about the strain of love but the crowd loves it and when they get off stage after two encores and signing autographs for anyone who wanted one, he makes love to her in their dressing room, his hands grabbing anything in reach.

“Nuh-uh.” Felicity disenchanted herself from his spell and took a step back. “We have an early morning. Music video, remember?”

“If we went with my idea, I would lick shots off your stomach for hours.” Oliver steals one kiss, pressing his body against hers his hands on her face and she melts. Just a quick little tromp through the dressing room, and then three hours of getting their band to follow them on tour with the new sound and then figuring our their finances-

The door whips open to their dressing room, some lady in a suit and sunglasses whisking her way in and then standing expectantly, “You need a manager.”

“Uh, no we don’t.” Oliver responds, annoyed with the constant stream of interruptions into their sex life.

“My name is Laurel Lance. I’ll see you at the video shoot in the morning, and if you could keep your dirty hands off each other until then that would be great. The whole sexual tension angle will make the video that much better. You two are like Johnny and June on steroids.”

Felicity puts a finger to Oliver’s lips before he mentions not needing performance enhancing drugs.

Living out of suitcases had its charms but being on the road, in Oliver’s truck with the gear in the back, the two of them spending every minute together was- exhausting. She’s so exhausted from the past few weeks that all she wants to sleep in her own bed. Relationship with Oliver be damned-

He was in her space again, and he smelled bad and she smelled bad, but she couldn’t want him more.

“I’m taking a shower, then I’m sleeping in my bed.” She was firm. Direct.

But then so was he, because she hadn’t even noticed his hands running down her sides.

“Not even, a little fooling around?”

“Nope. None. You can shower in the guest bathroom.”

Turning on her heel she expected him to follow her but he didn’t. She took her time in the shower, enjoying her shampoo and conditioner and while she initially thought she would enjoy some time alone, she found herself missing Oliver. Thinking about joining him in the guest house, she went to grab one of his t-shirts out of her luggage, but instead found him still wet and sleeping in her bed.

“Are we a duo?” She meant more than just a musical act but she wasn’t sure if that was clear.

Oliver wordlessly lifts his arm up for her to snuggle in and pretends to be asleep again. “Yes.”

“Should we have a name or like Oliver and Felicity? Sonny and Cher-style?”

“Loud Music.”

Oliver can tell she hates the name. She can picture websites with the stupid name, getting mocked in the press. She imagines it vividly, horribly and every which way it would kill their music, kill their sound.

He chuckles for a good three minutes before rolling over and promising that they’d think of a better name later.

**

Oliver was bored.

Sitting in the makeup trailer while Felicity and (her friend) Sara talked about different looks for the music video was mind numbingly boring. Having creative control was necessary to the plan but honestly he just wore the clothes they picked out for him.

Laurel (Sara’s sister?!) sat with them while she scribbled notes onto the storyboard for the music video.  She handed him the script and he paged through it, picking up the sides and turning them sideways to get the whole picture.

“Did Felicity sign off on this?” Oliver wondered, rotating the picture around to try and figure out how they were going to get her to do that-

“She will.” Laurel was confident. Too confident.

Wandering around the racks of clothing, he set aside a charcoal suit off the rack and headed back towards the makeup trailer where the two of them wrangled him into the chair. He did not need makeup.

“The makeup is to keep your smug face from looking too shiny.” Felicity explained, looking into the mirror. She looked beautiful, but not over the top. He could tell she enjoyed picking her own wardrobe more than she liked to admit. And she admitted it a lot.

Sara puffed and powdered his face, trimmed his trademark scruff.

Pulling him out of the chair, she practically skipped towards the wardrobe trailer and went through the racks of t-shirts, babbling happily about t-shirts and how they were more practical for music videos. He had already changed, swiping some cufflinks off a table.

He looked good. Felicity rounded the corner, t-shirts in hand. The front of her robe had come open when she dropped the t-shirts and he licked his lower lip in anticipation, “Maybe I’m overdressed if you’re wearing that.”

“You can’t play guitar in that.” She stutters, finally unfreezing.

“Who said anything about playing guitar?” Oliver smirked handing her the sides the music video while he went to the other side of the trailer to pick out an outfit for her. Her swearing was probably at the pool scene where her wardrobe was- nothing.

He would pick a tasteful swimsuit. Leafing through the pinks and reds, he picked out a dark green bikini.

“I just don’t understand why she thinks _Making Music_ is sexy.”

She was cute when she didn’t realize the weight of her own words. It takes a beat, but she finally gets it. Making Music was an innuendo. So was Exhausted in Love. It was pretty hilarious that it took her over two months to figure that particular part out.

“I can turn around and look through my fingers if you’d like.” Oliver held up the green bikini and really simple lace dress that was perfect, “I just picked the things that I’d like to see on the floor when I take them off. And I like green.”

Feeling adventurous, she dropped the robe and pulled on the dress before stepping into the heels she had been eying earlier. “Let’s go do this and then I’m going to kill Laurel Lance.”

They were at a mansion. It was simple: she would walk past him in the bikini and then he’d shove her into the pool. Then she took the top off and- scene. On the way to set she pulls him by the tie through the lot, the camera men already recording while she stomped barefoot towards the pool, dead silent.

Nothing good happened when she was being silent.

Laurel was hiding but someone kicks up the chorus, where she was supposed to jump in the pool and instead kicked his foot from in front of him causing him to tumble into the pool. In his designer suit.

Shaking the water off his hair, he spit the water out of his mouth watching Felicity swing her hips to the music.

“Get in here.”

“No.”

“Get. In. The. Pool. Felicity.” Oliver bit out, treading water thankful the camera couldn’t see what was going on underneath the water.

“Oliver, I spent three hours getting my hair perfectly coiffed for this.”

Pushing himself up on the edge of the pool, he jumped up out of the pool, letting the water fly off his body. He was soaked to the bone, and tossing off the jacket and untucking the shirt from his pants while Felicity looks on gaping.

“Cut!” The camera men don’t listen to her, following her as she ran towards him and into his arms. Trying to keep her makeup intact, he hefted up a bit higher and carried her towards the bedroom that overlooked the pool.

“Who needs a script? This stuff writes itself.” Oliver grinned stripping his soggy clothes off and accepting the new outfit from the PA in the hallway. His back to the camera he changed as slowly as possible and when he turned around Felicity had changed into what he could only describe as hot school teacher- glasses, hair up in a twist.

“Fuck.”

She giggled at him and headed into the next room, mouthing the words to their song during his parts and the lights kick up while he follows after her, stopping to look at the camera- making his intent clear.

Fuck it.

Putting his hand up to the camera he walked with it for a second before turning to pin Felicity against the kitchen island, tilting her back so he could run his hands down her-

“CUT!”

Laurel comes out of nowhere, pair of headphones around her neck, “Are you guys done? We have interviews scheduled after this and then we’re in the editing bay tomorrow.”

Felicity cranes her neck up to look at Laurel, “What about the rest of the video?”

“We got all the footage we needed.” Laurel smirked, “Now get changed so we can leave.”

**

Ten Interviews.

Laurel should have said ten interviews. Ten, practically hour long interviews, in which she was crabby, still wearing high heels and exhausted. Usually at presser they all asked the same ten questions and then one of them would think to ask her a sexist question about her diet (which she assumed was Malcolm’s doing)

How Laurel had managed to coach ten different news organizations was beyond her, but none of the people interviewing the two of them were familiar. Save for one Iris West, their final interview of the day.

“IRIS! Thank god, I’m starving.” Felicity threw the mic on the ground and headed down the street where they passed a restaurant on the way over from the video shoot. She had abandoned her heels three interviews ago and while walking barefoot across the gravel she couldn’t be happier to be free.

“Damnit Felicity.” Oliver ran after her, and hoisted her onto his back. Laurel was about three paces behind them, Felicity’s designer heels in hand.

He pauses long enough for Iris and Laurel to catchup before heading into the diner.

Fans knowing her location was never a problem for her, but the 10pm college crowd at the diner mobbing them was pretty hilarious. Most of them were already hungover but one of them hands her a stack of pictures to sign and another hands Oliver a ukulele and they have an impromptu jam session between milkshakes.

“Something New is not even one of our songs,” Oliver tried explaining it to them, but they seemed to enjoy making their own lyrics up as they went along.

While the kids meant to be silly it was oddly- a creative process.  They did most of their songwriting between the sheets, a red pen tucked behind her ear or in her messy ponytail while he scribbled on the back of the takeout bag.

Feeding off the energy of the crowd gave her a few different things to try the next time they were in the studio.

Heading home, Oliver had finally gotten his sister to pack up his things in New York, the crates of guitars covering her spare bedroom, his other things moved out of the guest house and into her own room. One day she had been alone, and the next she had a live-in partner/musician/boyfriend/lover-

Even though she hated when creative types used the word “organically” that was how their relationship happened.

Heading to the bedroom, boxes of clothes were waiting to go into her second closet.

Maybe things were happening too fast, she’d only known him for six months and her whole life had been turned on its head and she’d never had a steady boyfriend let alone a boy she literally threw herself on and just when she’s sure she’s going to faint or have a panic attack of both, Oliver’s arm wraps around her middle and he presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Laurel called. She wants us to nail down her contract at the editing bay tomorrow. Then we fly out to New York to record and then MTV for the music video launch next week.”

“I love you. And that scares me- not because of you, because I’m sure I was in love with your abs the first time I saw you but because of me- because all I’ve ever had was music and the music academy and shows in Vegas and then Malcolm and then I don’t know how to be an adult or anything useful-”

Oliver leads her towards the bed before curling around her. “You’re perfect just the way you are. You’re tired and need to sleep. You don’t need to be afraid of anything.”

Felicity wanted to believe him. She really did.

**

“If I had known that we’d be back in the city this week I wouldn’t have had my sister box up all my things.” Oliver grumbled, downing the rest of his coffee before the flight attendant came by for their garbage.

Felicity, in her sweatpants and sunglasses, hair up in a bun nodded drowsily, still-half asleep. He had to carry her to the car and into the airport which the paparazzi at LAX ate up. Flying first class was not necessary, but Laurel (with her newly signed contract) was working different angles as their manager.

For instance, getting photographed with the American Airlines tags on the luggage was a selling point. Free flights, no private jets and they’d have a similar deal with a hotel line of their choosing. Laurel was very- inclusive with decisions which was strange for him.

Standing up, he crossed the aisle for their carry-ons and braced himself for the New York winter. His good leather jacket had been lovingly packed by Felicity last night and he was grateful.

“Babe, get up.” Oliver nudged her arm and her head jerked up.

“I’m awake.” He handed her his guitar and hoped that was true.

“Liar.” Oliver smirked, heading down the ramp to see- Thea waiting for him. With his father. He didn’t even think his father knew where the airport was let alone wait for him there. Robert Queen had better things to do- like his step monster who was conveniently absent from their little family reunion. People were already recording the two of them, the last thing they needed was awkward questions about his family.

Extending the arm to her carryon, he placed Felicity’s giant purse on top of it and rolled right past where they were waiting. He didn’t have time to deal with his father’s bullshit this early in the morning.

“So I’m thinking bagels. Then hot dogs. Then maybe some pizza. Not all at once. But you know before we leave I need to have all of those things.” Felicity babbled pleasantly and Oliver was happy for the distraction as they made their way to the baggage claim.

“Well we have two weeks to do whatever you want.”

He could tell she was going to ask what he wanted, but then she thought better of it. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he slipped his free hand to her ass before she bent over to grab her bright pink suitcase.

“Oliver Jonas Queen.” Felicity gasped, faking her disapproval. It was clear what he wanted. His duffel bag was caught on someone else’s bag and she jumped the carousel to grab it before they caused a pile up. He lost sight of her and when he turned the corner she was being interrogated by his sister.

He almost forgot they were there.

“-Ollie just dropped everything and went to L.A. When I called Tommy to ask what happened, he had no clue where he was. Did you know that Tommy and Oliver, my brothers, have been attached at the hip since they were in diapers?”

Oliver put a hand on his sister’s shoulder, “Thea. Not in public. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Spying his father, he rolled his eyes and tapped his foot impatiently. “I don’t have time for this now and if you want to be a brat, be my guest. We won’t be here to see it.”

Felicity looked torn, but motioned towards the exit where the taxis were waiting.

They needed to check into their hotel and get to the studio. On the song they stayed up all night to finish. The life of a musician.

Packing their things into the back of a taxi, he opened Felicity’s door and slammed it shut a little harder than probably necessary, resisting the urge to flip his father off while they drove away.

“Do you want to tell me what just happened?” Felicity asked, swapping her sunglasses for her normal pair.

“My parents got divorced right after Thea was born. My mother left us with him and never came back. He spent the next few years avoiding us before marrying an eighteen year old. I grew up with Tommy, you knew that, but- when I turned fifteen I found out why. Thea is- my half-sister. I got emancipated at 17 and then there was the band and Tommy’s Mom died. She left some money to Thea and that got out and then the band was having problems and- Tommy found out I knew and then-”

He doesn’t remember Felicity grabbing his hand but he appreciated the gesture.

“My father’s suddenly decided through is mid-life crisis that he was a shitty father and that’s why I got emancipated. My step mother is only six years older than I am and she was supposed to take care of us?”

He had never, ever, told anyone his secret shame.

But they were at the hotel and the paparazzi was out in full force. Opening the door to the taxi, he went to grab their things out of the trunk while Felicity paid the cab driver, pushing past the crowd to head inside.

“We’re here to work on our album.” Felicity told the crowd of flashing lights.

The paparazzi in New York weren’t used to getting scoop from celebrities and they’re not sure if they should have pens out to take notes or take pictures. Oliver took their cue and ushered her inside the building.

“They aren’t reporters in New York. They just sell the pictures to the highest bidder.” Oliver accepted their key from the receptionist and let the bellboy bring their luggage up.

The doors close, and the kid removes his hat and hands them a CD. He puts the hat back on like he had not done anything and follows them to their room. Oliver tips him and looks at the CD which was accompanied by a picture of the kid- Ronnie Raymond.

The room was nice. Too nice.

Felicity settles in like she lived there and checks her makeup in the bathroom so they can head to the studio. She doesn’t bring up his car ride confession or his family the whole time they’re in the studio. While they eat their pizza for lunch, her feet up on the board, she finally cracks.

“Do you want to go to dinner with your father?”

“No.”

“But he and Thea are a package deal, right? She’s what 19?”

Her words made sense. And she offered to go with him, which he appreciated so at 7PM on the dot the next day, he and Felicity met his family at their favorite restaurant. Which of course meant the paparazzi would be outside and of course they had to sit next to the fucking window.

Thea chats like they’d only been apart for ten minutes, not the over two years where they didn’t speak.

His father and Isabel are their normal reserved selves, Isabel not even looking at the rest of them. She maybe loved his father but that love was not extended to his children. She did enjoy dressing Thea up like a doll.

“-I want to be an actor.”

“No.”

Apparently the whole point of the dinner was for Thea to fly back with them and stay at his place for a while so she could audition.  In what fucking universe would that be alright with him? He doesn’t think he’d ever been this upset in his life because while he had his problems with his stepmother, he had an out. He made the right call-

His hand starts shaking and his vision starts to blur and he honestly doesn’t know what’s happening to him until Felicity grabs his hand, her black nails digging into his hand. He dropped the fork he didn’t realize he was gripping and gave a thankful look to Felicity.

“We would love to have Thea visit and she will always be welcome in LA. But she is nineteen- her life is ahead of her and she can do anything she wants but you dumping her on us is not the solution to anything. I spent my life in music. I went to music camp and arts academy and sang every day for seventeen years and when I got my record deal my mother dumped me on my manager and I’ve just now gotten away from him.”

She doesn’t look up for their reaction, she just returns to her chicken and slips her foot out of her ridiculous heel and starts rubbing her foot against his ankle. While arousing, it was also soothing and definitely kept him in his seat while he’d rather be  back in their hotel room.

Malcolm- while brilliant and ruthless was not nurturing or creative. Tommy was evidence of that, but for the first time he really thought about what seven years of being with Malcolm would do to a person. Let alone his favorite person.

Isabel starts talking about quarterly earnings at Queen Consolidated and Felicity makes plans for Thea to visit during spring break.

When they get back to the hotel, Felicity looks tired and weary, “I don’t like talking about my mother. And since you never talk about your family, I thought that was just going to be something we didn’t talk about. But we don’t talk about a lot of things, like the next single or songwriting or anything besides you and me being naked together or what to get for dinner. Music is the most important thing in my life but it’s not the only thing in my life.”

Felicity implying that their relationship, that their music wasn’t “enough” for her breaks something inside of him, “I’m sorry I’m such a fucking inconvenience to you but it’s not my fault your mother sold you to Malcolm for a payout or that instead of doing anything about it, you just like to bottle it up and then bitch when I try to talk about it.”

Felicity looks at him for three seconds before grabbing her purse and slamming the door behind her.

“That type of door doesn’t slam!” Oliver groaned removing her hand from the handle.

“Fuck you, Oliver.”

And then she left. Oliver didn’t realize the wetness on his cheeks were tears until he was half-way through the mini bar.

**

It’s cold in New York.

She knew that before they left, and while it seemed ridiculous to be buying a winter coat in California she and Oliver had gone to the mall and picked one out for her, stopping to take selfies with some old Archers fans who were excited to see them.

Oliver said she’d need boots but she disagreed. Then he kissed her cheek and worked his way towards the luggage section. She rarely travelled to New York for anything, the occasional show. She was usually on her beloved West Coast and didn’t seen an occasion to buy winter clothes.

Walking around New York City, she regretted her heels. But she was angry. So angry.

The little voice in the back of her mind told her she was mad at the wrong person, and maybe that was true. But she had been wandering for too long and maybe her wandering could be somewhere warm. Spying the entrance for the subway, she walked down the stairs and sat and waited for her mind to pick a direction.

All of her things were back at the hotel and if she was leaving or staying she needed her things before that could happen. Dialing the familiar number for her mother, she got her voicemail. Her mother was in-demand in the Vegas circuit, her parents long considered to be Vegas Royalty even before she got her record deal.

Felicity knew it was easier to not be there so her mother could focus on her career. Her father worked at the casino and while she appreciated their support it had never been as genuine or as meaningful as she thought it should be.

Down the platform, someone sits down and starts strumming an off-tune guitar. They play the song over and over again, and by the third time she realizes it’s _Exhausted in Love_ and by the sixth she leans forward to get a look at the person-

It’s Oliver.

His guitar case is out and people have thrown tip money in, but she might be a little lost in more ways than one and removes her heels to walk towards him, sitting down on the cold concrete. She grabs the Starbucks napkin off the ground and starts writing about old love, loves that last lifetimes and in places that don’t thrive.

Oliver finally stops playing and he’s drunk, and unfocused, but he leans against her while she tunes his guitar and she tucks the napkin into his guitar case when she feels the other piece of paper already there.

The Uber comes to pick them up and while Oliver stares off into the city she reads his song, Broken Promises, which breaks her heart and then puts it back together. Oliver heads for the bed and Felicity takes great care to fold the paper back up and put it back where she found it.

In the morning when he’s hungover and she’s ready to talk, Tommy Merlyn is at their door instead of their room service. She being dressed in one of Oliver’s old Archers T-shirts, pulls at the hem and waits for Tommy to say whatever he was gonna say.

“Oliver is in the shower so say what you’re here to say to me and then leave.”

Tommy Merlyn, despite his playboy persona is nether carefree or whimsical or perfect. It’s 8 in the morning and he’d probably spent the whole night drinking, so Felicity wasn’t exactly sure how he found their apartment.

The people in her life were stable. Sara (and by proxy Ray) weren’t buying into their celebrity status. They were creative and smart and even her assistant Caitlin was caring. Tommy never had those things in his life and she, more than anyone could understand.

The two of them had met several times, but Tommy was with Oliver in New York when she came to live with Malcolm. But they saw the signs, the til midnight vocal training, the image guidelines. Felicity used that struggle to build herself up and Tommy used it to tear himself down.

“He broke me, probably the same way he broke you. And I’m not going to let him do that to Thea.”

There were others Malcolm took “under his wing” and while she was his “pride and joy” the others flamed out well before their prime. She had just met Oliver’s sister and there was no way he was letting him get his claws into her.

She wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Letting him in the door was easy. Getting him towards the couch was not. “We’ll be at the studio all day.”

Oliver comes out of the bathroom, towel around his hips and his smile deflates significantly at Tommy passed out on their couch.

“Tommy needs us. And so does Thea. They need stable forces in their life.”

Not even sure if they were stable forces, he nods before grabbing his coat. She sends a quick text to Caitlin to keep an eye on him and wraps her newly acquired scarf around her neck before her new boots.

“I texted the napkin to Laurel. Her friend Cisco is the producer to the new Nicholas Sparks Movie Soundtrack and asked if we wanted to be on it.”

Pretending yesterday didn’t happen was easy for the two of them, they’re in the studio recording the song and whoever Cisco is, he’s great at the table and his bosses didn’t even bother to show up and she makes he gets the producing credit on the song.

“You want to produce a few tracks?”

Cisco cracks a smile digging into his bag for some CDs and tossing them on the board, “I might stalk you guys on Twitter.”

Two weeks in New York and the album is done.

They do nothing for the next week but promote it and when it debuts #4 on iTunes, Felicity can’t contain her joy. Oliver wished it was higher, but is definitely happy about its placement.

Dinner is room service he pre-ordered at their last photoshoot and it’s a little cold but bagels were fine cold.

“I used to think music was the only good thing in my life. But I’ve learned that you’re the best thing in my life.”

She’s not sure if that’s a confession or an apology, but she takes it as both. Sitting next to him, she leans over and kisses him, her hand running over the scruff and tries not to cry at his vulnerable moment.

“My mother never wanted me. I ruined her life and so when she could get rid of me, she did. I guess I’ve always tried to make up for that somehow and it’s not fair to hold that against the rest of the world. Especially you.”

Oliver leans over to kiss her and smiles, “You don’t need to hold it against yourself. I can take it,  your craziness comes with the boyfriend thing.”

“And you’re just crazy. I like that about you.”

For the first time music took second place in her life and she couldn’t be more excited.

 

**

The shoe comes flying at his face before he can duck and it nearly hit him in the eye.

Oliver enters his home to find a trail of clothes leading from the door towards the kitchen. He left his new bass that Cisco wanted to see and returning home early, he never would have thought that Felicity was cheating on him.

Careful not to step on a creaking floor board he went to confront them, but when he rounded the corner to the kitchen it wasn’t Felicity. It was Laurel, practically about to break their fridge while Tommy-

“Ah! My eyes!” Turning around abruptly, he had an awkward look with Felicity before covering her mouth and heading towards the guest house.

“Laurel and Tommy?”

“Hey you jumped me the first day we met. They made it to Day Four.”

Laurel had not liked that Tommy was staying in their guest house. She was quite vocal about it the whole car ride to the LA Times, then at lunch and then again at dinner where Tommy was present. To say the two of them did not get along was an understatement.

Tommy, the hothead jackass and Laurel their Ice Queen of a manger were not as impossible as Felicity made it out to be. His best friend had a thing for chicks who were out of his league and Laurel needed to loosen up. It was a match made in hell.

“The lady doth protest just enough.” Felicity laughed at her own joke, “Aren’t you supposed to be jamming with Roy and Ray?”

He was but his bass was in the bedroom and he wasn’t going back into the house until they were done.

“They might not be done for awhile, right?”

His first thought is that it was too early to start writing again but then he turns around and Felicity is slipping her dress off her shoulders, “Damnit, woman would it kill you to wear panties?!”

Lifting her up off the ground, he dropped the two of them onto the bed and flicked his tongue against her ear, delighting in the sudden jerk of her legs around his waist.

“Whenever I wear them, you, Mr. Impatient, feels the urge to rip them into tiny shreds. Like a cat.”

Oliver is too impatient to reply but slips his hands down her body. Her underwear was just too rippable it wasn’t his fault that they came apart with the tiniest tug. Naked Felicity was probably his favorite Felicity, but if things had been going as they had lately they would be interrupted momentarily.

Tommy seemed to know the exact moment to interrupt, his boxers around his ankles, Felicity warm and-

“Why are you having sex in my room?!?”

“Fuck you Tommy.” Oliver muttered, covering Felicity’s body with his own.

“You were having sex in my kitchen with our manager, so turnabout is fair play. I saw Laurel’s tattoo. And yours.” Felicity grumbled, Oliver’s hands wandering to her sides. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah. A suit. Laurel scored last minute tickets to the Association of Talent Agents Gala. Because she wants the two of you to perform. She’s been trying to call you. Oliver glanced to the phone hanging out of his jeans. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh. Yeah. You want me to leave.”

Oliver could practically feel Tommy wink, slamming the door behind him.

“This sucks.”

Oliver zipped her back up and stopped to kiss both of her cheeks. “Change in the car. I’m going to finger you on the way.”

The blush across the tops of her cheeks was instant.  Oliver lived for that blush. Especially in public so all of her little fanboys were reminded on who took the hot chick home.

Picking up the phone, Oliver dialed the familiar number for Diggle and then Sara for last minute styling advice and then Cisco to apologize. The two of them had a system, unspoken and crucial. He arranged for everything while Felicity freaked out in her closet for twenty minutes before coming out with three different outfits to obsess over-

Oliver looked up and Felicity was already there, dress laid out, shirt and pants for him.

Felicity hung up his facetime with Sara, throwing the phone onto the bed while she stripped out of her underwear. “We haven’t had sex in almost a month. This can wait.”

Smirking Oliver shucked off his pants and headed for the shower. Multitasking, he hefted Felicity up against the wall so she could grab her shampoo while he was nudging her thighs apart and shit. Her fingers found purchase on his scalp, mid shampoo, and he turned them around to the spray would hit her hair.

A few more twists and turns with various forms of soap and Felicity was biting into his shoulder and he almost dropped her when his orgasm hit. Things like condoms were forgotten and when they were in the moment and instead of freaking out about, he felt fine.

Their life was great.

He almost proposed right there but Felicity asked him to wash her back and who was he to refuse?

**

“Bah bup bah bup pa.” Felicity warmed up her vocal chords shaking off any residual nerves while she meditated. She sold out a stadium once. It was a small stadium but someone played football there and outdoor shows had such a good vibe- this was “Unnamed Duo’s” first sold out large venue.

And she might be a tad bit stressed. Sara had left her an hour ago to check up on the backup singer who was missing, and Oliver was with the band prepping them for the new song they wrote last week. It was a little country but they did what they wanted.

She looked to her left, the pen pad full of scratched out band names with her favorite red pen on top. The page was covered. Every show they did a new name and none of them seemed to fit. Tonight’s selection was going to be “Pillow Talk” but that didn’t seem to fit either. All of the cool names like The Lumineers or The Fray or Paramore were already taken and it was going to bother her until they picked a name that wasn’t Loud Music.

On the Billboard chart they were simply listed as “F. S& O. Q.” Which is where _Making Music_ peaked at Number Ten, Exhausted in Love at Number five, and Napkin Song from “See Me” was battling for third place.

She sent Caitlin a quick text to send Malcolm an edible arrangement for being an asshole. If he had been a nice, decent human being, she wouldn’t be where she was now. And his son would not be living in her guest house.

Back to their group name, she tried to think of words that have FSOQ. Four Seven Octagon Quell. For Something Or Quill. For Something or Quiet.

Curlers still in her hair, bathrobe still on, Felicity marched down the hallway to where the band was warming up, Oliver smiling at something the keyboardist Dave said, Tommy sitting on the sidelines messing around with the drum kit.

“I picked a name and you’re going to love it otherwise I’ll make myself sleep on the couch.”

“You know that punishes me more than it punishes you.” Oliver laughed, pulling her against his body, the stool he was perched on definitely not big enough for the two of them.

“For Something or Quiet.”

“I love it.”

The band starts up with something and Oliver makes the stop motion under his chin. Tommy continues with a drum solo but then stops when he notices the rest of the guys not doing anything.

“Is that the secret song you’ve been working on?” Felicity teases raising an eyebrow at his hands wandering into her robe. In front of the whole band. And Tommy, their wayward tenant/friend/charity case.

“No. What secret song?”

“The one you keep stashed in your guitar case.”

Oliver Queen, hardcore rocker, badass, supreme hotness, actually looks embarrassed. “The guys are just messing around. We’ve got the set list down unless you want to add anything. They’re gonna open the doors in a few minutes.

Oliver’s hands linger over her own and she smiles. Being in love suited her.

“I think we should open with Something New. People love that one and it’s not even on the album.”

Oliver held up the piece of paper where he had taken it off the finale and then added to the opening number. “I love you, Felicity.”

“I know.” Felicity smiled pulling her bathrobe back together and shuffling back down the hallway. Seeing the dress Sara picked out, Felicity went to Oliver’s go bag and pulled out his extra dress shirt and double checking her deodorant was still in placed belted the shirt over her leggings and put her glasses back on.

Stepping out on stage, she took her guitar from the equipment manager and stepped on stage.

She couldn’t see anything except for the little lights in the sea of darkness and she did a little curtsy before Oliver ran up behind her.

“So I’ve finally picked a name for the band and Oliver has graciously decided to let me pick it, so starting, well, right now, we’re going to be known as For Something Or Quiet. And fuck it, let’s just start the show. This is not one of our songs but everyone’s been tweeting me about it, Oliver why don’t you give a little background about this one?”

“We used to take requests for songs. Before we had a band and a manger and lighting equipment. And I don’t know if you all know this but we just write songs. All the time. So this is one we haven’t finished yet and I hope you’ll sing along mainly because the lyrics change every time we sing it. This is _Something New._ ”

The screams from the huge crowd erase any of her doubts and when she kisses Oliver in the middle of the show she knows that they’ll be okay.

**

“This Bro Day is turning into Chick Day.” Tommy pointed out, looking at the group. Which comprised of their sister, and Laurel. And Ray. Not exactly a Bro Day by any standards. At lunch they got mobbed, and they had to sneak into the jeweler’s shop from the alley while he looked around.

“Felicity’s birthday is the same day as the AMA’s this year.” Laurel pointed out, her arm fully attached to Tommy after smacking him in the back of the head, “And no one said this was Bro Day.  You just said ‘My sister’s in town- lets do lunch.’”

“You say that all the time, and I go to lunch with your sister.” Tommy argued, like _Bro Day_ was some national holiday his “not my girlfriend” girlfriend should know about.

“My sister lives in L.A. Where is she?”

Ray looks around sheepishly, “Uh. She’s shopping for underwear. With Felicity. They didn’t want you to ruin _Chick Day_ with Tommy.”

Oliver walks passed the rows of gold shiny things and settles on a silver ring with a pink diamond.

“Whoa, ‘Bro’ that’s an engagement ring, I think you want a tasteful bracelet or a chunky necklace that she likes.”

“I want that one.” Oliver tells the woman behind the counter, digging his wallet out.

Thea starts screaming which leads Tommy to screaming along with her. Which alerts the paparazzi outside to their attention and Oliver slips the ring into his pocket before swearing all of his friends into secrecy.

“No one speaks a word of this. No one.”

Pointing directly at Tommy he looks around before pointing at himself, “Moi?”

The two of them had gotten along surprisingly well. And if them watching Housewives every week wasn’t a sign of their friendship Oliver didn’t know what was. Headlining the award show was a lot of dress rehearsals and later that night when they’re lying in bed, exhausted he almost proposes.

Costume fittings, guitar shopping the whole week flies by and when he wakes up on her birthday, the takes his time making his way down her body with his tongue before waking her up in the best way he can imagine.

“Fuck, Oliver, you’re the best.” Felicity mumbled running her hands through his hair to urge him on. Her body reacts to his proximity, shifting closer and farther away in different places. Her orgasm comes in slow waves as he laps at her, not even bothering with his fingers. Simply nudging her thighs apart when he needed to breathe she lets go of his hair breathing hitched slightly.

Realizing something, she stops squirming immediately, “We didn’t do anything for your birthday. When is your birthday?”

He looks up from where was positioned, between her thighs, her wetness in his stubble. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously.”

“It was the day before we left for New York.”

It was a good day. They went to the beach and laid in the sun and then drank a few bottles of wine for dinner and they fell asleep on the couch.

“We didn’t do anything special that day.” They did but she didn’t think so and that was fine. He liked the slow days that made him think of the future. To when they had kids and he’d stay home and she could produce other people’s songs and write-

A quiet life was in his cards and he couldn’t be happier about it. Felicity, however is deeply troubled from their lack of ecstatic celebration, and turns herself around so her head is in his crotch, his erection twitching due to the proximity of her cheek, “We can share my birthday until the gig tonight.”

Oliver had wanted the whole day to be about her but he wasn’t one to deny her wishes, now was he?

Much later when he’s freshly showered, with a full belly and ready to leave for the AMA’s where they were nominated for three awards and performing, the perfect time to propose pops into his head.

**

“I gotta pee.” Oliver whispered into the dark auditorium. They had just gotten back to their seats he had plenty of time to pee on the way back. She’s sure they passed at least three bathrooms.

“What if we win?” She whispered back glancing to the presenter currently leaving the stage.

“I’ll be back in flash.” Oliver kissed her cheek and disappeared into the darkness. Hopefully the line wasn’t too long to the bathroom.

She was actually nervous. They could actually win.

The lights come back up and the host, Taylor Swift starts announcing the award for New Artist of the Year, the camera pans over to her and she smiles on camera, Oliver still missing when the rest of the acts are called.

She would be more than mortified if she had to accept the award by herself.

“And the award for New Artist of the Year goes to For Something or Quiet!”

The music cues up and Felicity somehow stands, Laurel shouting at her to get up but she can’t hear anything over the really loud music and even though she almost trips over some  random camera man in the aisle that looks a lot like Barry, it takes a second to realize that Oliver is singing the song, strumming along to the song.

The spotlight moves to him and he walks backwards up the stairs and Felicity follows him towards the stage. He gets down on one knee, and holds out the ring, dropping the mic on the ground. The whole room goes silent because Oliver Fucking Queen just hijacked a live national broadcast and they were definitely going to get fined by the producers for their engagement and Laurel was probably going to go to an early grave but there’s a ring and it’s pink.

“Marry me.” He doesn’t even ask a question, he just tells her what’s going to happen.

And maybe she’d overwhelmed from the performance or the award, but she hikes up her dress and kneels on the floor in front of him, crying.

“Yes. I’ll marry you.”

The crowd cheers and Taylor hands them their award before their shooed off stage to the press line, question after question about their pending wedding.

 “We just got engaged, I don’t know!” Felicity smiled, kissing Oliver’s cheek, she jokes that Vera Wang’s people should contact her about that while she walks off stage.

The next morning when Vera calls, Felicity may have freaked out a little.

Just a little.

**

Epilogue

Felicity pulled back the curtains to her daughter’s room, delighting in the groan of protest coming from the teenager. Cadence wanted to see what it was like to be a working musician.  That meant she could kiss her summer vacation goodbye.

Her sister Melody could enjoy normal rich kid things like sneaking off to parties at midnight, their driver sitting outside the property waiting for them to take her home. Sleepovers. Going to the mall. Taking their little brother Note to the movies with his friends.

“This is not what really happened to you.” Cady insisted, dragging her feet towards the closet she shared with her sister.

“Merlyn had me up at 4AM. Running 2 miles. Breathing exercises. Egg whites with spinach for breakfast. Water. More water. Vocal lessons. School. Smoothie for lunch. Dance rehearsal. Stage training. More breathing exercises. Then I could pick an instrument to play for fun. Sheet music. Lyrical training. Maybe dinner. Writing workshops until 10PM and then the whole thing over again.”

Felicity walked down the hallway that led away from her children’s rooms stopping to wipe an imaginary smudge on her platinum record for Making Music. One the left side was her two awards when she was known as Ash Monroe, and the other was all of their various awards over the years.

And maybe some pictures of her kids. Something had to fill up the other wall.

 “The way Dad tells it the early years were just the two of you writing while he strummed his guitar.” Cady opted for her smoothie now, chugging the green concoction with her nose plugged.

“Did I ever tell you about the time he wrote a song on a bar while I sang one of his old songs?”

Oliver chose that particular moment to come out of their garage studio. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked exhausted but something about looking at him, the man who changed her life, the man who gave her the three best kids on the planet, the man she loved more than anything, lifted her already high spirits. He smiles every time he sees her and she feels 21 again.

“I’m gonna call Laurel before I take a nap. Jack Tempo’s new album is going to be amazing.” Oliver grinned, Mel followed him out of the garage and took the smoothie out of her sister’s hand and drank it.

“Dad is a lyrical genius and he said I could get a producing credit on _Movers and Shakers._ ”

Felicity wasn’t sure when Oliver became a producer, but once a week a demo would show up on their doorstep and Oliver would look at it and work his magic. Mel, despite the rest of the family’s musical inclinations was more than happy to work on computers than the vintage 808 she had gotten for her birthday. (She would go on to take the company over from Oliver’s father)

“Ready to run?” Felicity asked.

Laurel knocked on the front door before letting herself in, her daughter Bex dressed similarly to Cadence. Second-guessing their decisions. Perfect.

“I told her Pop Star Bootcamp was going to suck, but then she tried to come up with some bullshit about Tommy having it so easy when he was young. That’s because Oliver was writing all of the songs. I tried to get her into talent management but no, she wants to sing like her Dad. You know your Grandfather used to make Felicity run two miles and then walk two miles back to the house. While he had Uncle Dig drive him behind her yelling at her to go faster.”

Laurel was however, dressed to run as well. Rebecca Lance-Merlyn was a great singer, not that her own daughter wasn’t, but she was putting herself out there and if her mother ever found out about the encrypted website Mel made her- she might have a record deal within the year.

“Is Oliver calling me? I’m in your house.” Laurel laughed, picking up the phone. “Oliver get some sleep. Jack’s album can wait till business hours. Fine. Fine. Send it to me and I’ll listen on the run.”

Note (His real name was Nathan and he was so against not having a musical name that he gave himself one) had a sweatband around his head and was ready to go.

“Note, what are you doing? Go back to bed.” Cadence laughed.

“I’m gonna have a record up on that wall before you will.” (Felicity would laugh about that particular joke for the next three years until Oliver was putting up the award his first million YouTube viewers)

Felicity had never seen a ten-year-old look so serious about anything.  But the five of them go for a run and when she’s tired and wants to quit she nudges her daughter on. They could do this if she wanted to and she didn’t raise a quitter. (She would later decide that choreography was her passion)

Bex started singing on the way back to the house, mainly to piss off Cadence. (She would later dedicate her Grammy to For Something Or Silence)

Felicity hugged her friend/manager and made the joke that she was done. She was retiring. Four platinum singles and two gold albums were enough. Their girls were 16, she could cash her royalty checks for the rest of her life and be happy.

“Yeah right. Just wait until Oliver wakes up and he’s horny. Your next single will be called “Come Calling” and I’ll have a deal lined up with Rolling Stone for an exclusive download with their next digital issue by lunch.”

Laurel liked to make fun of their song titles. But she laughed all the way to the bank so Felicity didn’t think she cared that much. (Their next song is called “Next to Nothing” thank you, very much)

Felicity watched her friend and her goddaughter run across the street to where Tommy waved from the doorstep, mug of coffee in his hand. His eyebrow rose and Felicity was grabbed from behind, her husband practically naked.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping while I torture our daughter into going to college.”

“Am I?”

Oliver hefted her over his shoulder and kicked the door closed with his foot.

“What would have happened if we never met?” Felicity asked her body bobbing up and down as Oliver carried her towards their bedroom.

“I don’t know. Something similar to this. Maybe I’d be a firefighter. Or a police officer. Or a pro wrestler.”

Felicity giggles, thankful their bedroom was sound proofed, “My hero.”

And he was.

 

END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking for a beta for my Olicity fics. I have several done that need a second opinion.


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